Tide
by Juna Maleus
Summary: The depths of the mind cannot withstand the depths of the unknown. What came from the sea, returned to the sea.


Tide

* * *

The fishing boat bobbed back and forth, milky skies turning knotted and gray like the old man's beard. The wind had picked up, sending the sea birds squawking in plight back to their nests. Through aged eyes the old man watched as the sky was enveloped by storm clouds. He knew the skies and the waters well, just like an old friend that had grown up beside him through the years. He bit his lip as he worked; the taste of the sea salt as delicious as the first time. The muscles in his arms pulsed as he pulled the long rope up from the depths, strong but weary in his old age. The sea had proven to be all he needed, and it had allowed him to live a long, thoughtful life.

The waves picked up as the man reached the end of the rope, pulling aboard a wooden trap full of mud crabs. Vile as they were, the old imperial had grown a liking to them. The sea was plentiful with them, so who was he to deny the sea's offering? Without contempt, he looked at his catch, and they looked back through their beady, black eyes. Their mouths frothed with bubbles as they chattered in anger, attempting to snap the iron bars that held them away for freedom. The man could not blame them for their desires denied.

He would do just the same in their position.

A crack of thunder broke his thoughts like fragile pottery—a sign that he needed to head home before the sea became greedy. The sea had claimed much of the world around it. Eventually, everything would return back to the sea at some point, for it was ancient as time itself. Life began at the sea, and it would end with the sea—and then the process would begin again. He admired this power, and respected it. Many sought power in their own ways, most taking a route in the mortal world of politics and war. Some channeled the gods themselves, or sought fame or wealth. But he—he did not need such things to find power.

For he had found the sea.

* * *

The sea whispered him to sleep as the storms of Kynareth swept through. Waves crashed on the rocky shore, sending salty spray into the air, greeting his nose pleasantly as if it were sweet incense. He had left the decrepit window in his shack opened so that he may bask in the emanation of power from the sea as the storm wracked its surface. The storm would eventually dissipate and leave, but the sea would always remain—timeless.

Sleep finally overtook him as he was led into the dream world, where another bottomless ocean of infinity awaited.

* * *

A knock on soggy wood awoke the man of the sea from his deep slumber. It was quite unexpected, for it was rare to see anyone, nor attract their attention for that matter. The old man's bones creaked as he managed his way up, and over to the door. Shock consumed him as the he opened the door to the sight of a Dunmer mage, clad in the blue robes of the Arcane University. Although he was a simple man of the sea, these mages were well known to all, and it was not the first time he had met one.

"How may I help you, good sir," the man of the sea asked through lips masked by his grey beard.

The mage examined the old man through fiery red eyes typical of his race, but his face remained stoic and un-phased.

"I need you to take me out there," the Dunmer's lips hardly move as he motioned out towards the sea with one finger, his blue robes fluttering with the sea breeze.

The old man nodded, biting his lip, deep in thought, "What of the old sea has caught your attention?"

The mage ignored the man's question, pulling out a bag of gold, "Here," he handed it to the man firmly, "You may keep it all if you don't ask any _questions_."

Taking the gold hesitantly in his hands, the old man of the sea knew he had no use for such a thing. The sea provided everything he could ever want, and the coins of man and mer were irrelevant. A gift was a gift though, and the sea had taught him to not refuse such kindness. The mer had requested his help, and wished to keep matters to himself. There was no harm in such things—for what could a mage like him ever do that was comparable to the wrath of the sea?

"When?" the Imperial asked.

"Now."

* * *

With careful strength, the old man rowed the quiet mage out into the oceans of the sea. The Dunmer would tell him when to stop, and it had been hours now since they last left the shore. The land was almost out of sight now, but the mage wished to go further and further.

"Good mage, I know—" he was cut off as the Dunmer raised his hand in signal to stop. The old man let go of the oars, allowing the boat to sit and bob. The actions of the mage were strange. He lowered his hood, looking around as if taking in everything to make a mental map in his head. Then, he looked down into the bowels of the sea—green, blue, and then black as the void itself.

"Tomorrow," the Dunmer quipped, "we shall travel back here."

The old man nodded, taking a curious look into the waters below to only see a shifting reflection of himself. What was it of the timeless sea that intrigued this mage so much?

He was reminded of its power—the mysteries that lay deep beneath changing tides and into the abysmal depths of old.

* * *

That night, the sea did not whisper him asleep. The waves did not crash, the sea birds did not squawk as they traveled back to their roosts. The sea was placid like glass, untouched and unbroken. He had known the sea for many years, and never had he seen it so frozen, like the lakes of Skyrim. It bothered him deeply as he gazed out his only window, the edges covered thick in salty grime.

The sea was not angry, nor was it at peace.

He let out a sigh and shook his head, hoping he was already tucked deep away into a dream. _This should all be better in the morning_, he kept telling himself as he lifted the musty wool covers of his bed.

For if it were not better, he could not stand another day of it.

* * *

As expected, the Dunmer mage returned, his face unchanging as the old man opened the shack door. The hinges creaked, worn from the corrosive air spurned from the sea. The old man ignored it, opening the door fully.

"Kind mage, are you ready to disembark? I am worried though—"

The Dunmer squinted his eye, as if criticizing the old man of the sea visually, "There is nothing to worry about. Let's go."

The old man nodded, the vertebrae in his neck cracking from his deep slumber.

He did not know it would be his last.

* * *

"What are you doing?"asked the Dunmer mage, his sardonic voice deviating from his usual indifferent façade.

The old man of the sea looked up, the contents of the leather bag emptying, "I'm giving your gift to me to the sea-- for safe travels."

The dunmer mage scoffed and shook his head, not caring what the old man really did with his gold.

"The sea is not at ease, I can see it in her face," the old man explained. "What once came from the sea, will return to the sea."

His words had no visible effect on the Dunmer mage. From what he could conjure up, he would think the Dunmer just thought he was just some crazy old man with dementia. It didn't matter, for he only cared what the sea thought.

Eventually, the boat returned to the exact spot as yesterday. The Dunmer mage made sure of it. The old man knew already, but clearly the Dunmer mage didn't think so, marked by his violent hand motions and scorning look as they neared the location. The old man knew the sea too well; of course he would not forget such.

The mage stood up, grabbing his pack. The old man watched, curious as to what would happen next.

"I will be leaving now," the mer said without emotion, "Return to this spot tomorrow to pick me up." The Dunmer turned to look down towards the changing colors of the sea. The old man nodded in compliance, but was not without a parting word.

"The sea is deep here," the man directed with his cracked hand, "Men and mer were never designed to go to such depths."

The Dunmer gave him one last stoic look, his eyes like ice, "I know."

With his final words, the Dunmer began an incantation, moving his hands with arcane precision. A shield developed around him, and with a simple levitation spell, the Dunmer floated above the boat, and into the sea.

_What came from the sea, returned to the sea._

* * *

His mind raced like fire as he sat in his bed, looking out the window again at the silent sea. What mysteries _did _lie in its realm, deep beneath the waves and covered in the sands of time?

Were they meant to be _found_?

The old man of the sea gripped his covers like a little child, hands wrenching and doused in cold sweat as he thought of the maddening things beneath the tides.

_What came from the sea, returned to the sea._

The imagery flashed with the pictures not of the placid sea that warmed his heart, but of the cold death that lay underneath the sea's deceiving face… in the mind of the sea itself! Such knowledge the sea must hold! The sea saw all, and knew all… there was nothing the sea could not claim. Yet it didn't. He knew many men and mer could were claimed by the seas of Nirn. He knew of how much life was also sustained by the sea. Like the land, the sea was almost akin to a servant of Arkay, yet its duality matched it with the padomaic princes themselves.

Unlike the land though, the sea could hide things for eternity, like the depths of one's mind.

* * *

The day had nearly passed by as the old man of the sea waited for the Dunmer mage to arise from the bottom of the sea with his questions answered.

But the poor soul never showed, nor did he tell the old man what to do in case of such of an occurrence. Such tragedy did not bother him too much, for it was the sea's will. Everyone who approached the sea to pry at its mind knew of the dangers.

For courtesy-sake though, the mer was a guest after all, and the old man of the sea would make sure to stop by once in a while in case the Dunmer proved he was a great mage of the Arcane University after all.

* * *

A month passed.

The old man heaved the rope up from the depths, returning to his natural grind. Crabs awaited him below the waves, or so he had thought.

Pulling the trap from the water, it became ever so clear to him that these were in fact not crabs. With widened eyes, stark with terror, he let go. Slowly sinking, its cargo floated to the surface for just a glimpse.

Just a glimpse.

"What have I done," a voice remarked behind him. The old man, petrified, turned to see the head of the mage bobbing in the water, somehow still able to speak.

"What have I done."

_What came from the sea, returned to the sea._

* * *

There was no comfort to be found.

Fortified within his shack, the old man shook on top of his bed, for once afraid of the sea. What was it doing? What demonic magic was at work?

What had that mage done?

Silence pierced his ear drums as nothing but the sound of his own heart and heavy breath could be heard. The ocean did not move. His shack did not creak. The birds did not chatter. Even the wind was still.

Except… except-- he gripped his ears, tearing at them with his dirty, salt crusted nails. Pitter pattering! Pitter pattering! It filled his mind and his soul! He could taste their rotten flesh! He could smell their stinking bodies! And finally, he saw them crawl through the cracks of his home from all directions. Barnacle, mud covered fiends! Marching, marching, with no mind! He gazed into their black beady eyes, black like the abyss of the sea in which they came from. Upon some of their backs were the pieces of the dead mage, trophies of sinister origin as they held them up towards the skies of their dark exalted gods.

His scratches burned as the salt seeped in, mixing with trembling sanguine as it surged from tense skin. Incoherent screams fell across his lips as he curled up like a mere child, unable to withstand what he saw – the horrors were too great for such an inexperienced mind. His mind ran in circles, twisting into knots as emotions were mixed – lament for the mage, lament for his situation … then laughter at what fate had done to him.

Why was life so cruel? What had he ever done to the sea?

Grappling his eyes in fear, he attempted to tear them out as mania took over him. He did not dare to look upon their mandibles which could only be soaked in the blood of another mortal, terrible in their nature. In his rash nature, he surged out the door, ignoring the fiends that were scattered upon the floor. The head of the mage followed him out on the back of its servant. The old man did not turn around, his hands his firmly gripped upon his protruding eyes.

The waves greeted him too kindly as he ran into the abyss. The mage's head only watched in its blindness.

Not even death awaited him, for what lurked within the sea did not die.

_What came from the sea, returned to the sea. _


End file.
